Free Guarded Heart by Anya Breton Page A

satin
fabrics.
    “Whoever it is would be foolish to try anything at a party,”
she said.
    Was that why Brook had let him walk out without her? Thank
the god of the ocean the Ranger couldn’t read his silent irritation that she
hadn’t shackled herself to his hip. Or something a little closer to the center.
    Morgan scrubbed a hand over his face. “I was nearly shot. In
public. I’m taking no chances with anyone.”
    “But yourself . ”
    “As I told you. It would be suspicious if I hid away.”
    “That’s ridiculous—”
    “And whoever it was would take it out on those I care for.”
He hadn’t meant to look Mira in the eye when he spoke the words. No doubt she’d
read it as a soulful gaze—one with far more emotion behind it than he meant to
broadcast. For a Water witch, Mira was obtuse regarding the emotions of others.
But then he had been with her as well.
    “Please,” he said with a low sigh. “I take my people’s
safety very seriously.”
    “But you don’t take your own seriously.”
    “I will. In fact, I shouldn’t be away from Brook for long.”
    Mira’s eyes narrowed into fine slivers. The drawing
sensation coincided with what he’d felt from her the moment he’d spotted her
dark head of hair. Jealousy still. Morgan might have assured her there was
nothing to concern herself over. He didn’t.
    A part of him, initially small but quickly widening with
disturbing speed, wanted Brook despite their vast differences. Perhaps because of them.
    “Take care, Mira,” he said in distraction when the line
opened for his assistant to fetch her things. “I’ll call…”
    He didn’t finish his thought because he’d forgotten what it
was, if he’d known to begin with. How could he remember a damn thing when his
attention was riveted on her ?
    How had Irvin persuaded Brook to dance ? And why did
the formerly gangly female have to move with grace foreign to a tomboy? How had
she learned to move like that?
    Who had taught her?
    Never before had Morgan felt inclined to harm his uncle. But
the hand inches below Brook’s flared hips should have been his , not
Irvin’s. And never had he experienced the urge to drag a woman out by her hair.
    The image of his fingers slicing through those spiked,
cropped locks flared in his mind’s eye. He’d let the tips of his digits linger
at her nape until she shivered with desire. Only when he’d drawn a reaction
with the heat of his gaze would he slide the straps of her gown over her bare
shoulders.
    Morgan’s cock roused when Brook’s gaze met his across the
dance floor. And she shivered. Deliberately he stepped to the wall rather than
cut into their dance. He couldn’t be trusted. Laughable that, considering he
was the most principled male he knew. Brook had always gotten him in the worst
trouble.
    His uncle sent a glance over his shoulder. Irvin’s lips
quivered in the mere moment Morgan had seen his face. And then he was bent over
Brook’s figure, whispering in her ear. Morgan’s chest tightened at the sight of
them in the intimate embrace.
    Brook jerked her head to the right. A shapely shoulder
appeared beyond Irvin’s frame. As soon as Morgan had seen it, it disappeared
behind his uncle’s body.
    Frustration. Hers. He could feel it across the room
without an empathic link. Morgan shot forward in time to hear her protesting.
    “He’s a sitting duck alone over there and I don’t want to
dance.”
    “You were dancing peacefully while he stroked Mira,” Irvin
said before he realized Morgan was within earshot.
    Stroked Mira? Was the male trying to make Brook
jealous? Morgan’s gaze switched to hers, eager to know if it had worked. Her
eyes were narrow, but the emotion he noted when his empathic link snapped into
place wasn’t jealousy. No, it was more irritation.
    Brook Lochlan was one giant ball of vexation—a sexy ball in
a slinky gown that left little to the imagination.
    But she wasn’t Brook Lochlan any longer. How could he
have forgotten